If We Had Lost (iPod Shuffle Challenge)
by Morrigan21
Summary: This is a fun little challenge, prompted by one of my Dragon Age writing groups. From a random selection of songs, we write scenes inspired by the music/title of each song. We only needed 10 songs, but I have 12 (we'll call the extras - hidden tracks). This story is set in an AU, shortly after the blight hit Denerim, in which the darkspawn are winning the war.
1. Prologue

_**From the iPod Shuffle Challenge in my DA fanfic group. I had a little fun with a slight AU concept. Each chapter should relate to a song on my shuffle list and I will try to shift character perspective in each one (the first 2 are the exception - both belong to Alistair)**_

**PROLOGUE** (Loreena McKennitt)

"The darkspawn are more virulent than the worst plague, a heartless force of nature that came into our world like an ill wind." -From Tales of the Destruction of Thedas, by Brother Genitivi, Chantry Scholar

9:31 Dragon – The Fifth Blight

The war was over before it ever began. The Blight was worse than anyone had imagined and although the wardens worked to bolster their ranks, we were not prepared for the initial attack. Some of the new recruits that Duncan had placed his faith in failed, dying at the hands of darkspawn before they could even complete the ritual - overrun by the horde that would take Ostagar. I failed him. We failed him. Now we cower in the shadows and the caves while the darkspawn make our land their home. I am Alistair, the last of the Ferelden Grey Wardens. There are days I wish I had died with the rest of them, but there are others who need protection, and I cannot abandon them. Maker guide us for we are all but lost.


	2. Royals

_**Second installment in the iPod Shuffle AU concept - still from Alistair's perspective**_

**ROYALS** (Lorde)

"Warden."

The weary voice of one of the soldiers drew Alistair from his contemplative prayers. He looked up at the man, his patchwork leather armor, barely holding together, was framed by an unkempt appearance. It was the way of the world these days – humans and elves scurrying about beneath the ground like sewer rats. They lived in these abandoned thaigs and caves, barely tolerated by the Dwarven communites who granted shelter to the few surface survivors. With a sigh, Alistair pulled himself to his feet and gave the man his attention.

"What is it, soldier?"

"There is news from Denerim, ser. A man approached the gates of Orzammar demanding quarter. King Bhelen was ready to turn him away, but he claims to be protecting Ferelden's Queen."

"The Queen is alive?" Alistair drew his eyebrows together. He thought that everyone in Denerim had been lost. "Where is this man?"

The soldier swallowed. "I believe he is fighting for his life in the Proving Grounds, Ser."

Alistair swore, snatched up his sword and shield, and ran off in the direction of Orzammar's famed fighting arena.

* * *

><p>He arrived at the Proving Grounds just in time to see the man, large and impressive in his full plate armor, cutting down a member of the Silent Sisters with ease. The silvery metal may have been smeared with dirt and blood, but it shone with the fine polish of a nobleman beneath the grime. Alistair stared with curiosity as the man pulled off his helmet. From the back, all he could see was a mane of long dark hair as the man swung his sword in a wide arc. The ground around him was littered with blood – no doubt from a series of fights that had taken place prior to this one.<p>

"Is that the best you've got?" A deep arrogant voice bellowed at Bhelen, who oversaw the proceedings from his high vantage point in the arena.

A couple of guards came into the ring with a large sling cot to collect the fallen warrior.

Bhelen sneered at the man. "Unless you'd like to find yourself on the pointed end of my sword."

The dwarves in the crowd laughed heartily, clearly believing in the battle prowess of their King.

"I will fight you if that is what it takes." The man replied. "Have I not already proven myself with this series of foolish games?"

"You think our customs foolish?" Bhelen let out a bitter laugh. "Humans live among us by the sheer grace of my mercy. Perhaps I should leave you to take your chances on the surface. That is where you belong after all, human."

The crowd jeered their approval.

The dark-haired man lowered his head. "Forgive my brash speech, sometimes I speak without thinking," he looked up at Behlen once more, "but I have earned my place here."

"Perhaps." Behlen acquiesced. "We could let your audience decide, but that wouldn't be very fair now would it?"

Alistair tried to push his way to the front of the crowd.

"Is there a human in this place who will speak for you?" Bhelen addressed the crowd, who had grown deathly silent.

Alistair shouldered his way to the edge of the arena. "I will." He bellowed up to the dwarven king.

Behlen sought out the source of the voice. "Ah…the grey warden."

Finally, the man in the arena turned to face Alistair. Their eyes locked and recognition flared between them. Loghain Mac Tir. He should have known. Alistair's heart sank into his stomach as he recalled the massacre that left Duncan and King Cailan dead along with a goodly portion of Ferelden's forces. A battle that Loghain and his men were oddly absent from.

"Consider this man in your care, Warden, but please counsel him on the confines of our agreement." Behlen dismissed the arena.

As the crowd funneled out, Alistair stared at Loghain, trying to hide his contempt. He had no idea how the man had evaded the enemy, but the fact that he wasn't there when the onslaught took place was a little too convenient for Alistair. He almost wished he'd left the man to Behlen's twisted version of mercy, but he wanted to know of the fate of others in Denerim and if Anora was alive he would certainly swear to protect her. Without the necessary army to defeat the blight, he had to wait for reinforcements from elsewhere in Thedas – wait and hope. In the meantime, it was his job to protect the survivors, but that didn't mean he wouldn't be keeping an eye on his new addition.


	3. Never an Easy Way

_**Installment 3 of the iPod Challenge. We change perspective and location in this scene.**_

**NEVER AN EASY WAY** (Morcheeba)

The elven assassin reached down and pulled his ornate blade across the human's neck. The sharp edge sank deep into his bronze flesh, releasing a gush of warm lifeblood from the man's body. He seized and gurgled, clawing at the ground, before collapsing into the dirt at the assassin's feet. Wiping the blood from his hands and blade, the elf drug the body of his mark further into the dank alley and began relieving him of his coin and weapons. The Orlesian had been a worthy opponent – just not worthy enough for the skills of a Crow.

A golden ring glinted on the dead man's right pinky finger, upon closer inspection the ring appeared to be in the shape of a large griffin's head with bright orange gems as eyes. Pulling the ring from the Orlesian's finger, he deposited the trinket in a pouch. It would serve nicely as proof of the kill. The assassin smiled, it was a bittersweet victory. He had accepted the contract on a grey warden half expecting to meet his own end. The outcome bolstered his confidence – perhaps it was not yet time to meet death head on. Screams erupted in the distance, interrupting his musings. Smoothing his long blond hair back into a tighter ponytail, he moved back to the shadows. He had a bounty to collect, but first he had to find a way out of the city.

His lithe body slid along the outer wall of a small shop and he made his way to the edge of the alley. The central market district was overrun, fires had broken out and bodies lay broken and twisted amidst the ruins. The deafening roar of a mighty dragon sounded overhead. The assassin glanced back at his conquest and wondered if that particular contract might have more dire results, but it was too late to reconsider now. It appeared that the darkspawn were moving away from the area, following the call of the great beast. That would certainly make his escape easier. He waited a bit longer, before ducking out into the open area. With his stealth and grace, he found his way down some quieter side streets.

He caught a small mass of genlocks unaware and took down two of them before they even attacked in turn. The elf easily dodged to the side as a third swung its rusty blade. It bellowed as it came at him again. The stench of decay from the creature's breath assailed his nostrils and caught in his throat, making him gag. With a swift kick, he pushed the creature off balance and drove both of his daggers into its midsection. The last two standing came at him from either side. Using the body of the nearly dead genlock caught in his blades, he pushed it down and rolled forward, somersaulting over the darkspawn corpse as it hit the ground and pulling his blades free before the other two could swarm at him again.

The scuffle seemed to be drawing more attention and out of the corner of his eye, the assassin saw other creatures approaching. He would find himself joining the other mutilated corpses if he didn't get away soon. Bashing the butt of his dagger into the face of one of the creatures, he dazed it long enough to push it into the other, allowing himself a window of opportunity to escape. The elf slipped nimbly between barricades and climbed up to the top of one of the buildings. From above, he jumped from roof to roof until he made his way to the outer wall of the city.

From his vantage point above, he was able to move along the city wall until he found an area leading off into a thicket of trees. Glancing back at what remained of Denerim, he wondered what he might find out on the road. With a quick leap and roll, he darted off into the woods. It was a long trek to the gates of Orzammar and with his new found desire to live, the assassin fully intended to collect the rest of his contract.


	4. Dry and Dusty

_**Installation #4 in the iPod challenge. Alistair and Loghain have become my anchor in this series of song-inspired stories. They just won't let me leave them alone.**_

**DRY AND DUSTY** (Fever Ray)

Loghain watched his travelling companion settle into the crumbling stone structure as best she could. The bed mats were worn and lumpy and the blankets threadbare. It certainly wasn't the type of accommodations that she was probably used to, but he knew that she would make do with anything presented to her. He had come to admire her for that.

"The grey warden has asked to meet with you." Loghain kept his voice even.

She turned to face him. Her brilliant blue eyes keenly assessing him. "Whatever for?" She asked, twisting her mass of dark auburn hair into a simple chignon before tending to the small hearthfire.

"He seems to want to know everyone under his protection." Loghain grumbled.

She paused in her preparations at the fire to look at him. "I thought I was to be under your protection, my Lord." Her words were innocent in their intent, but they grated against his very being.

"That may have been true in Denerim, but it is the warden who has made pact with the dwarves." He inhaled sharply. "For that reason, we are both currently under his protection and must do as he abides."

"I see." She looked uncomfortable, but returned to the hearth.

Loghain watched as she prepped the fire and the meager food scraps for a meal. Her cooking was horrendous, but he knew she was trying her best. She moved with the grace of a noblewoman, even in such paltry surroundings.

"He will be here soon." Loghain moved to the entrance, where a simple piece of cloth separated their tiny abode from the others. "I will wait for him outside."

"The warden is coming now?" She sounded startled.

"Yes." Loghain measured his words. "There is nothing to worry about, Elissa."

She inclined her head in acquiescence and went back to her tasks, but the way her movements had grown stiff told him that something else was still bothering her. He shook his head and went out to await Alistair's arrival.

* * *

><p>Loghain watched Alistair approach. His resemblance to Cailan was uncanny – his hair was slightly shorter and a shade darker, but the build and facial features were Maric's. He was almost surprised that no one else could see it.<p>

"Warden." His greeting was clipped.

"Loghain." Alistair nodded.

They stared at each other for a moment.

Alistair shifted his stance and cleared his throat. "Is Anora inside?" He inquired.

Loghain's features darkened. "My daughter did not make it out of Denerim."

"But, I-" Alistair stumbled over his words as he processed the information. "I am sorry to hear that, but I thought you came to Orzammar seeking sanctuary for the Queen of Ferelden?"

"There is a noblewoman under my care, but it is not Anora."

"I see." Alistair paused, as if awaiting further explanation, but Loghain only returned a stony stare. "May I meet with her?"

"Of course." The older man pulled back the thick canvas door and motioned him inside. "She is preparing dinner if you wish to join us."

Alistair gave him a tight smile. "Thank you."

He stepped into the mostly intact stone structure with Loghain on his heels. There weren't many private buildings that hadn't already been repurposed for living quarters and Alistair had to relocate a soldier and his family to give Loghain this particular space. Looking around, Alistair spotted a woman hunched over the fire. She had her back to them and seemed to be cooking a bit of nug meat on a spit over the flames.

"Elissa." Loghain called out to her. "The warden has arrived."

She turned and rose at the sound of his voice. As she approached, Alistair was immediately struck by her unconventional beauty. She had fair skin with reddish brown hair, which in itself wasn't peculiar, but the large almond eyes set deep in her face combined with a long nose and delicate lips gave her an ethereal sort of appearance. He found himself entranced.

"Warden." She inclined her head, her voice a melodic tenor that sent chills down his spine.

When he realized that she was staring at him, awaiting a response, he roused himself from his stupor. "Please, call me Alistair."

"If you insist." Her response was devoid of any emotion, ingrained with the correct level of polite social etiquette but little more. "I am Elissa Cousland."

"Cousland." Alistair furrowed his brow. "That name sounds familiar."

"As it should." Loghain cut in. "The Cousland family was the landholding nobility of Highever."

"Was?" Alistair looked to Elissa.

A gentle sadness settled into her eyes, but she kept her voice steady as she spoke. "There was an attack on my family home."

"I am sorry." Alistair frowned. "We have lost too many to the darkspawn."

Elissa glanced at her companion before continuing. "They were not taken by the darkspawn, ser."

Alistair looked from her to Loghain. "If not the darkspawn, then who?"

She inhaled sharply, but did not respond.

"I'm sorry." Alistair waved his hand. "I shouldn't pry, but if there is another threat out there I would like to know about it."

"Yes, of course." Loghain jumped in. "Elissa was the only member of her family who escaped the attack. She made it to Denerim and sought refuge with the Bannorn. I took her in as my ward. We were looking into the matter before the darkspawn approached. We fled the city just in time."

Alistair frowned. "So you never found the culprit?"

"We have some ideas, but nothing has been proven."

"I see." Alistair rubbed at his chin. "If you need any assistance, I will do what I can."

"Of course." The Teyrn nodded.

"Thank you." Elissa's lips turned up slightly at the corners. It was a pitiable attempt at a smile, but at the moment she didn't have a lot to smile about.


	5. Fire With Fire

_**Installation #5 in the iPod Shuffle Challenge. I have to ask your forgiveness, for I may have taken a bit of liberty with the spellcasting capabilities here, but I think it made the story a bit more fun. I like my mages with a bit of power to them. Enjoy!**_

**FIRE WITH FIRE** (The Gossip)

Darkspawn swarmed the shores of Lake Calenhad. Kinloch Hold lie in a fiery ruin around the blood mages who had attempted to take it. The few inhabitants not locked in a bitter battle within stood with their backs to the tower, facing a new threat together. The mage rebellion was burning down around itself as the darkspawn encroached. Neria grasped onto Wynne's arm and, using their combined mana, launched a great firestorm over the enemy. Flames swirled around the wretched creatures, burning their putrid flesh and heating their weapons until they were forced to drop them, crying out in pain.

"There!" Wynne pointed to one who carried a gnarled staff.

Before the creature could complete its spell, Wynne trapped it in an energetic prison. It writhed in pain, and was taken out of the fight long enough for them to focus their attentions elsewhere. Greagoir and the few remaining templars fought off the darkspawn stragglers who tried to broach their shores, while the mages fended off the threat across the waters. Crude arrows flew through the air, sinking into the water and the ground in front of their feet. A few apprentice mages tried to help with shields and barriers to protect the others, but their magic was still too new and they began to exhaust themselves. As the barriers waivered and faltered, another volley of arrows crossed the water, closer than before.

"Fall back!" Greagoir yelled to the mages.

They began to retreat from the shoreline, but there was nowhere to go with the hold burning behind them. Another volley of arrows fell upon the group. Two of the retreating apprentices cried out as the shots hit their mark. Neria looked behind her and saw that one was a young elven boy. He fell to the ground, an arrow sunk deep into his leg. She recognized him as one who always had his nose in a book. Most of the others whispered about his unfriendly demeanor, but she acknowledged it as determination. Like him, Neria had always felt that she had something to prove to her human counterparts and she had done it through hard work – not a need for friends. Perhaps it was why she had moved up the ranks so quickly. The other, a young female who had been preparing for her harrowing, was doubled over with an arrow buried in her stomach. Wynne moved to help them, hoping that her healing powers could save them before it was too late.

Neria's lips formed a thin line and she turned her gaze back to the enemy. They swarmed the land on the opposite side, clamoring to maneuver boats or wading into the water. Many just jeered and roared from the shore, as if laughing at their impending death. Neria was not ready to go down without a fight. Mustering her power, she swirled her hands and cast a large ice storm over the lake, just barely reaching the opposing shore. A thin layer of ice slowly formed atop the lake, impeding the progress of the darkspawn and freezing some of them in place. The cold, brisk winds pulled the archer's arrows from their path across the sky, redirecting them away from their targets and giving the mages and Templars a slight reprieve from their onslaught.

Trying to push her spells to a greater distance than they were meant to go was quickly draining her energy – especially without Wynne's assistance. As Neria continued to concentrate her efforts on the bulk of the horde, she lost track of the darkspawn emissary who was now free of Wynne's temporary prison. The feeling of being punched in the stomach hit Neria and she felt her knees weaken. The emissary was pulling life force from her and, in her depleted state, it brought her to the ground. She gripped the cool grass beneath her hands and tried to catch her breath. Reaching for her belt pouch, she drew out a healing potion and drank it down.

It took effect quickly and Neria's head snapped up, resolve flooding her bright green eyes. The young elven boy seemed to be mending, but the human girl was not faring as well. Neria watched as Wynne shook the girl, crying out her name in an attempt to rouse her back to the land of the living.

"Keili," Wynne gripped the apprentice's shoulder. "Wake up! Please wake up."

The girl flopped about like a ragdoll, her brown hair falling loose around her face. Neria crawled over and touched the elder woman's arm. "Wynne, let her go." She whispered.

Wynne faced her, a look of fierce vehemence on her face. She wanted to protect this one, but Neria knew it was already too late.

"Please." She pleaded with Wynne. "I need your help."

The older woman blinked, as if trying to understand her words. She looked back at the apprentice in her arms and closed her eyes. Allowing the girl's body to rest against the ground, she returned her attention to Neria. The smell of fire and burning flesh assailed their nostrils. The emissary had begun to rain fire down over their group. One of the Templars cried out in pain as the fires heated his armor and seared his flesh.

"Let's go." Wynne's face hardened and she rose to her feet. Reaching down, she helped Neria to her feet and they both faced the emissary together.

Focusing their efforts on the darkspawn sorcerer, they threw every spell they could muster until he fell. By that time, the ice storm had ended and the rest of the horde renewed its pursuit in force. Wynne and Neria tried to catch their breath and rejoined the remaining apprentices to prepare for the larger group that progressed towards their shore. It would not be long now. The young mages whispered and fretted, the fear almost palpable in the air around them.

Neria turned to face them. "Do not be afraid. I know that they are many and we are few, but they are mindless creatures and this is our home. We must fight for it!"

They stared at her as if she had suddenly grown a second head.

"I was like all of you once." She looked each of them in the eye. "Unsure of my power. Ashamed of my lot in life. Trapped by this prison." She pointed up at the tower. "But eventually I accepted my place and the fact that my power had a use. This is what we are trained for. Let us show Ferelden what it is that we are capable of!"

Some of the mages and apprentices nodded in agreement. Amazingly, she was actually getting through to them. Before the shock found its way to her own face, Neria gave them a stern nod in response.

"Let's stand together. And if, by the Maker, we go down…we will take them with us!" She cried.

The mages rallied a cry and the Templars joined in. Together they turned upon the enemy and readied themselves for the next wave of the attack.

Darkspawn muddied the waters with their mass of dirty brown forms. A few groups found the circle of stones that extended from the shore to the keep and crawled over the rough outcropping to reach them. Others tried to clamor up remnants of the ancient bridge reaching out from the Imperial Highway, but the gaps were too large for any creature to maneuver very far.

As more of the boats approached, Greagoir and Bran led the other Templars in a frontal assault, but it didn't take long for the numbers to overwhelm their small group. Wynne and Neria grasped hands once more and tried to bolster their spells to cover greater distance and area. They managed to weaken the first wave of forces, but a second wave quickly replaced them. The apprentices stood together casting arcane bolts at the darkspawn and utilizing some minor healing spells to assist the Templars.

As the enemy encroached on three sides, they were forced to split their attentions. The templars tried to fend off the darkspawn from the shore. Petra took half of the mages and apprentices to fend off those approaching from the left while Neria and Wynne took the others to ward off the attack from the right. Just when the ranks seemed to thin, more followed in their wake. Neria's confidence wavered, but she tried to stay strong for the others.

A hideous sound rose up behind Neria and Wynne – a great roar that sent a tremor through the air and drowned out the screams of their comrades. Before Neria could turn to see what was approaching, the ground shook beneath her and she heard Wynne cry out in surprise. The roar rang in her ears once more. The beast was so close its spittle shot out like rain above her. Petra screamed and Neria whirled around as the mighty ogre held Wynne's helpless frame aloft and crushed it with one fist. Her face paled. There was nowhere to run, no place to find shelter. The enemy swarmed, swallowing the templars and mages beneath its diseased masses.

With a mighty swing of its arm the ogre tossed Wynne aside and arced back, throwing the bodies of those on the ground out of its way – not bothering to discern friend from foe. Neria felt herself swept into the air along with the masses and she flew like a broken marionette through the air. She grasped at life and with the last bit of mana she could muster, she cast a Lifeward over herself. Her body landed against a rocky shoal near the back side of the tower. Neria lost her breath as her bones cracked and her flesh bruised. She could scarcely keep consciousness as her body tried to knit itself together from the spell.

Darkspawn bodies piled up around her, putrid and stinking, the air stung her throat and she choked on it as she was finally able to draw in a breath. She coughed and tried to roll to one side, but pain sliced through her head and chest. Neria used her hands to assess her injuries and found them coated in a slick mess of her own blood. Curling tighter, she closed her eyes and cursed the Maker. He had never been a friend to her and now, when most found the faith to pray, she grew furious. There was no great power coming to save them. She could not save herself. She could not save the others. They would all die in vain, because no one cared enough about the mages to aid them.


	6. Witness

_***Installment #6 in the iPod shuffle challenge. More about Loghain and Lady Cousland***_

**WITNESS** (Sarah McLachlan)

Elissa tidied up as Loghain led the grey warden out. He had joined them for dinner, but she could tell that he had regretted the decision. Her lips curved up as she recalled the awkward way he had praised her cooking skills while nearly choking on the leathery bit of nug which had very nearly broken his tooth. Before Loghain returned, she quickly brushed the last few bits of meat into the fire. Not even the flames wanted to consume them, she sighed as they turned into thick, dark clumps.

"Thank you for preparing the meal." Loghain stated congenially as he moved towards her. "Alistair asked me to convey his gratitude once more."

Elissa shook her head. "Please, spare me the platitudes. I know I am a horrendous cook."

"Very well." He stifled a laugh. "Perhaps I will try my hand at the spit next time."

She looked up at him and smiled. "I should very much like to see that."

Loghain returned her smile, happy to finally see a genuine look of mirth on her face. He gently fingered a tendril of hair that had fallen loose from the knot at the nape of her neck. "You should wear your hair down. It would suit you."

Elissa rose and looked into his steely gray eyes. He had the same wistful expression as when he'd first taken audience with her in Denerim. She wondered what, or who, he thought he saw in her face. When she touched his hand, he winced and his features lost their softness, hardening into a mask of anger and loss.

"I should retire." He bowed his head and left her standing alone by the fire.

* * *

><p>The next day Elissa gathered up what little clothing they had and took it to the communal washing station. As expected, there was a bit of a lineup and she had to wait her turn. The women were busy with their gossip and she was reminded that she was still very much an outsider in this place. Elissa had seen the servants at Highever chatting together while doing their work, but she had never joined in – she was friendly with them, but not really a part of their world. Some of the women stared at her and whispered.<p>

Elissa kept her head down and went about sorting through the clothing in her pile. She had never given much thought to how personal the simple act of housework could be, but holding the Teyrn's soiled breeches and undershirts in her hands, she couldn't help but feel as if she were doing something quite wicked. The simple muslin shirts still held his smell, a blend of musk and leather that made her slightly heady with the distinct smell of the man. He came to her aid, much as her own father would have done, but somehow she couldn't quite see him as a father figure. He intrigued her.

"Oh, ya got it bad, honey." A gruff woman's voice chuckled from behind her.

Elissa turned about to see a large matronly figure grinning at her. "I don't know what you mean." She shook her head and shoved the clothes into one of her piles.

"Sure." The woman winked. "Ya just go about smelling all the men's clothes."

She reddened and continued her sorting.

"Don't mind me, hon." The woman touched her arm. "The name's Helda. Yer new here, aint ya?"

Elissa gave the matron a tentative smile. "I am Elissa. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Helda chuckled. "So proper. Ya must be a lady then." She lifted her eyebrows and looked over Elissa's shoulders. "And whose drawers are ya sniffin' anyhow?"

"Never you mind!" Elissa playfully waved one of the pieces of clothing at the other woman.

They had a laugh and chatted genially about the accommodations in their underground hiding place. Elissa was grateful to have someone else to talk to – at least for a short time.

"Aye! It looks like yer up, milady." Helda smiled and pointed to the open wash basin.

Elissa returned a genuine smile. "Thank you."

She gathered up her piles and took them over to the basin. As she was adding more water to the tub, she felt a gentle jabbing in her arm. It was Helda.

"Sorry, deary." The woman held out a folded bit of vellum. "I think you dropped this back there."

"Oh." Elissa fingered the note. "Thank you." When she turned it over, the broken wax seal of Arl Howe stared up at her.

"Sure thing." Helda patted her on the arm and headed off to another open basin. "See ya 'round!"

Elissa's heart plummeted as she stared at the familiar crest. It was Howe's men who had invaded her home, murdered her parents, and very nearly murdered her. There had to be a reasonable explanation. The nobles often wrote to each other about matters of the court. Loghain had said that he was following up on a lead regarding the Howe family for her. Her hand shook as the weight of the letter grew in her grasp. She began to pocket it, assuring herself that the best course of action would be to discuss it with the Teyrn later that day.

Yet, she couldn't quite bring herself to dismiss it. Elissa may have played the part of the proper lady, but there was more beneath that well-trained facade than even Loghain knew. Lifting the letter from the fold of her cloak pocket, she pulled apart the flaps and began to read.


	7. Lamentation

_**Installment #7 in the iPod Shuffle challenge - a peak at the dalish (Merrill & the fate of Theron Mahariel)**_

**LAMENTATION** (Delerium)

Merrill's shoulders shook with grief as she lay the bouquet of pink and white flowers over her lover's chest. His frame was as cold and still as stone. She touched his cheek, discolored with strange purple bruises, and planted a gentle kiss against his forehead. Tears slid down her cheeks as she bowed her head and said a few words to Falon'Din so that Theron might be safely guided to the Beyond.

"He was a good lad, Merrill." Keeper Marethari squeezed the younger elf's shoulder. "I am sorry that we could not cure him."

Merrill wiped at her tears. "What sickness was this?" She looked up at the Keeper. "I thought your magic had saved him. He was doing so well when we left the camp."

"I know, child." Marethari looked out into the woods, her stance uneasy even as her words held a comforting note. "Rumors are spreading from all across Ferelden. The darkspawn have returned."

"Darkspawn?"

"Yes. I believe those are the creatures that you saw in the ruins near where you found Theron." The Keeper looked into Merrill's eyes. "We need to keep moving north, child. Please say your goodbyes."

They both jumped as the brush rustled in front of them. Two of the clan's hunter's stepped out into the clearing. Marethari left Merrill to say her last farewell in peace and intercepted the hunters. They were no doubt scouting for the vile creatures who had infected Theron. Merrill lowered her head and whispered to his lifeless form.

"I wish you hadn't gone out that day. Why couldn't you have met with me in the forest first? I could have distracted you and kept you from that wretched place?" She sniffed as tears fell from her cheeks onto his shoulder. "But don't worry. I will try to find you again."

Merrill lifted her hand and revealed a shard of glass. "I took this from the mirror that you broke. Perhaps the ancient magic can bring you back to me, my love." She kissed Theron's cold lips and placed the shard in her belt pouch and away from prying eyes. "I will see you again. I promise."

Marethari was calling the others to the center of their temporary camp. Merrill gave Theron one last, lingering glance and went to hear the Keeper's announcement.

"Our scouts have found a large trail just to the west of our path." She motioned in the direction as she spoke. "It appears a large group has already moved north."

A nervous murmur rose throughout the camp as the elves looked to each other and attempted to make sense of the news.

"We do not know what made the path, but we will continue on our planned journey. The hunters will scout ahead and we will travel quickly and safely to our new destination."

Merrill watched from the fringe of the crowd as other members of the clan questioned the Keeper and her chosen course of action. As First to the Sabrae clan, Merrill should feel more a part of this group, but without Theron at her side, she felt hollow. It wasn't easy being sent to live with a whole new clan. It should have been an honor, but in many ways it had been a burden. Theron had helped her to feel at home amongst the strangers. Some of his friends had become hers and she had begun to believe that she could shoulder the power and responsibility of her new title. Sitting out here on the edge of the commotion, with both Theron and Tamlen lost, she felt more an outsider than ever.

"Please begin preparing your aravel's for travel. We will move out again at first light." Marethari picked out Merrill from across the distance of faces. She nodded to her First.

Merrill nodded in return. She had to keep up appearances. It was not the right time to discuss her plans with the Keeper. She was not yet sure that Marethari would approve.


	8. Fear and Love

_**Installment #8 in the iPod Shuffle challenge - the fate of Lothering**_

**FEAR AND LOVE** (Morcheeba)

They trudged over the dense, hilly terrain with nothing but the smallest spark of hope and the clothes on their backs. Leliana tucked an errant strand of red hair behind one ear and looked over her shoulder at the defeated men, women, and children of Lothering. She prayed silently to the Maker that they would find the passage across the seas that they so desperately sought. These were simple people and they had just lost everything to the Blight. All the stories she had heard of darskpawn could not have prepared her for the reality. They were putrid, ferocious creatures with the irrational lust for death, torture, and destruction that one would expect only of the truly mad. Leliana shivered as she recalled what they had done to the revered mother – and in the Maker's house no less.

"Are you alright?" Ser Bryant's deep voice invaded her thoughts.

She shaded her eyes from the slender rays of sunshine that managed to peak through the clouds and looked up at her travelling companion. They had crossed paths in Lothering's Chantry – she as a meek member of the sisterhood and he as the dashing, dark-haired templar. The weight of the heavy metal armor he wore should have pulled his shoulders down in defeat, but Ser Bryant managed to maintain a sense of ease in his carriage – at least outwardly. Something in the creases around his dark brown eyes, led her to believe that the miles were secretly wearing on him as well. Leliana mustered a half smile and focused her gaze on the path ahead.

"I just hope the coast of West Hill fortress is harboring some ships. They have endured a long journey already." She indicated the stream of people behind them.

"Indeed." The templar nodded his agreement. "Let's hope the Maker favors us, Sister Leliana."

They continued in silence over the next crest of hills. Ser Bryant moved ahead of the group, dragging the bound hands of their qunari prisoner in his wake. Leliana eyed the huge Kossith as he passed her. Bryant had argued vehemently when she appealed for him to release the giant of a man rather than leaving him to be slaughtered by the darkspawn. True to both of their beliefs, she had managed to convince him that all of the Maker's children deserved to be saved. The qunari was reluctant to be a part of their attempt to flee, but Leliana had offered him a deal on the side. Thus far, he had kept his side of their agreement and followed along with little complaint, but the pointed look the hulking figure gave as he moved in front of her, made it clear that soon she would need to fulfill her part of the agreement. She was fairly certain that Ser Bryant would have more than one objection this time around.

As if sensing her conflicted thoughts, the templar turned and smiled at her. It was a subtle, yet intimate, gesture meant to be encouraging and Leliana did her best to return the smile with one of her own, but guilt nagged at her. The journey was nearing the end of its fourth day and they had been forced to rely on one another for far more than the polite social graces of the Lothering Chantry had demanded. It felt like a past life. She recalled the way he had reacted when he realized that she could fight just as well as any soldier. When the first darkspawn stragglers began to terrorize the village, she had picked up arms with the rest of the men and revealed her real skills. Her feigned smile became earnest as she remembered the way he had moved to protect her, until he realized that she had little need of his protection. Some of the men looked at her with apprehension, but Bryant nodded as he would to any respected peer and moved to assist the helpless refugees in their camps while the others able to fight held the line along the road and at the southernmost edge of the village. After the initial attack, he helped her scrounge up some actual armor and a decent bow. Together they mobilized the townsfolk who were willing to leave and mounted an evacuation effort.

The first day they had pushed everyone hard, trying to put some distance between the group and the looming threat from the south, but they seemed to be everywhere and, although they did their best to protect those under their care, there were many who fell along the way. Leliana tugged on the small braid that grazed her cheek. The sun continued to strain against the clouds, revealing itself just long enough to warm her skin and awaken the birds in the trees. Songbirds. It felt like forever since she had noticed the lilting melody of nature. Perhaps there were still remaining pockets of Ferelden where the darkspawn had yet to taint the beauty of the land. Brushing the end of the braid against her raw lips, she looked once more upon the templar. Although he tried to hide it, there was desire in his gaze when he looked upon her, particularly in battle. She sensed that he appreciated strength in a woman and if they both hadn't still clung to the shreds of their life in the Chantry, perhaps they may have already given in to those desires. Leliana blushed as her mind gave way to a bit of fantasy.

The sound of something running in the underbrush shattered her quiet moment. Cursing herself for allowing the distraction, she readied her weapon and moved towards the sound. Ser Bryant moved to her side, sword at the ready. She was acutely aware of his presence this time and had to push her errant thoughts back down into the darker recesses of her mind. It was probably good then, that they would soon be parting ways. Her calling was leading her to Orzammar, where she had heard rumor that the last Grey Warden of Ferelden had retreated to regroup. It was her destiny. The Maker had told her so.


End file.
